


Eat or Swim

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rodney, not being of the soft sciences, was unable to explain with any reliability the workings of John Sheppard's mind. At times, Rodney likened it to that of a goldfish.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat or Swim

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Mischief5. Thank you, my dear.

Rodney McKay was waiting.

Do not be mistaken enough to assume he was waiting patiently. Not that Rodney couldn't be patient. Rodney was a very patient man. When necessary, he had patience to spare; he was filled to the brim and oozing patience from every orifice, not to put too delicate a point on it. But in this particular case and due to this particular cause, Rodney was pacing anxiously, one hand worrying at the other like a hamster gnawing at a particularly tasty nut, or perhaps like a ferret chewing at the bars of its cage. 

The cause of Rodney's concern was, of course, the person he was waiting for, one John Sheppard, always recalcitrant but seldom tardy. In point of fact, it seemed like Sheppard was only late when he was delayed by factors beyond his control. 

Not that Sheppard wasn't, in those cases, in some way responsible for those factors being in a position to control his actions. Which was why, as Rodney paced, in addition to wringing his hands, he found himself grinding his teeth together in a fashion that would have Atlantis' orthodontist, Dr. Schönhauser, fitting him with a mouth guard before long. 

Rodney, not being of the soft sciences, was unable to explain with any reliability the workings of John Sheppard's mind. At times, Rodney likened it to that of a goldfish, binary in function—eat or swim—yet that didn't account for some of the more complex solution sets presented. 

Such as this one. _"I'll draw them away then meet you back at the jumper,"_ fit into neither 'eat' nor 'swim' unless one stretched the definitions substantially. 

And then there were the events of the previous evening: Sheppard's strategically disastrous chess game, his mumbled excuses and hasty exit, only for him to return to Rodney's quarters fifteen minutes later, eyes crazed and hair in a more than usually tragic state. Sheppard stared down at Rodney's shoes, started speaking, stuttered to a stop, said, "Like, you know, right?" And then grabbed the front of Rodney's jacket and pulled him into a hasty, awkward kiss before spinning around and striding once again out the door.

Irrational. Even for a goldfish.

Damn Sheppard, anyway. He was now, officially, not just a bit tardy, but incontrovertibly late for their rendezvous, and when Rodney next saw him he would...he would...well. There was no telling what Rodney would do. Something fitting. Where previously Rodney was only a little peeved, he was now fully enraged, and woe betide the target of a McKay in the full flower of—

"Oh, thank God you're okay." Rodney reached out and grabbed Sheppard's arm as he approached. "Do you have any idea how long I've been standing here waiting for you and thinking the most awful things had happened to you? Do you? You should be ashame—is that blood? Oh my God, that's blood; you're bleeding! Why are you bleeding? Did you get shot? How could you let that happen?"

"Well, it wasn't really my idea." Sheppard tossed him a lopsided grin.

"Shut up! Just shut up and get into the jumper, you nincompoop. You utter maroon. I can't believe I was so worried about you I developed a bleeding ulcer while you were gallivanting around getting shot without a single concern for my peace of mind. Idiot. Sit down." 

Rodney shoved Sheppard down onto the starboard bench seat and reached up to grab the first aid kit.

"It's not a big deal," Sheppard said, holding out his arm and peering at it. "Just a scratch, really."

"You did not just say that." Rodney sat down next to Sheppard and opened the kit to select a pressure bandage. "You did not just make a stupid joke while spilling precious bodily fluids—"

Sheppard snorted.

"Oh. How mature." Rodney tore open Sheppard's sleeve, exposing the wound further, then shoved the bandage against it. "Disgusting. This is completely repulsive." He started winding the dressing around Sheppard's arm, holding the gauze in place while he did so. "Hanging out with you is such a pleasure. I honestly don't know how I can bear the joy of it."

"I guess you like me."

Rodney flicked a quick glance at Sheppard's smirking face. "I do not. Whatever gave you that impression?"

"Well, for starters, you didn't belt me last night when I...you know." Sheppard shifted his shoulders. "Did what I did."

"You didn't give me the opportunity." 

"Point," Sheppard said. "But a guy could get hopes. And then when you didn't turn down the mission—"

"Oh, yes. The mission. Let's discuss the mission, shall we?"

Sheppard winced and started messing with his bandage, tightening the knot—which was quite unnecessary. Rodney's knots were perfect, as was everything else he engaged in, with perhaps a very few exceptions. 

"You approached me this morning with what you claimed was an absolutely routine mission—the partners were 'trusted,' you said, and we could run the mission despite Teyla and Ronon being off visiting Teyla's great-aunt."

"Grand-uncle," Sheppard cut in.

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "'This will be a cakewalk,' you said. Well, Colonel, do you see cake? Because I don't see any cake. Or, for that matter, the kegs of goaty milk, the sacks of oat-like grain we make our oatmeal with, or even a few packages of the chewing gum your marines so favor, all of which we were supposed to negotiate for and arrange to have delivered to the gate."

Sheppard shook his head. "Well, you know how quickly things change here. I guess while Atlantis was on Earth, there was some kind of coup."

"You guess. You guess, do you? So here we are: you bleeding, and me worrying my brains out."

There was that quick smile again—not a smile, actually, so much as a crinkling around Sheppard's eyes.

Rodney crossed his arms. "Oh, you like that, do you? Me worrying you've gotten your fool head blown off? It was no picnic, I can tell you. I could have had an aneurysm, and then where would you be?"

"Pretty screwed," Sheppard said, his voice low. He rested his hand on Rodney's leg. "But...if it's all the same to you, I'm...I'm glad you care." Then Sheppard made a face, as if he were expecting the skies to open up and Wraith to begin their fatal assault.

"Well." Rodney cleared his throat. "I do. So, keep that in mind."

"Uh-huh." Sheppard was staring at Rodney's face—well, more precisely at Rodney's mouth—which Rodney realized was making the temperature rise in an area somewhat south of his belt. 

This was not in the nature of a revelation. Sheppard had in the past been responsible for prompting this phenomenon by such seemingly innocuous activities as 1) slouching in a chair and spreading his legs; 2) rubbing his fingers over his mouth; and 3) eating a cup of pudding. However, in this case, Rodney felt quite justified in grabbing the back of Sheppard's neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Despite the provocative mouth-staring, Sheppard seemed momentarily taken aback—but only momentarily, for he soon was reciprocating in a satisfactory manner, enough so that Rodney's dick tried to do the physically impossible and unfold like a tesseract into the limited three dimensional space of his cargo pants. 

"Okay, all right, um," Rodney said, pulling back. "You have admirably demonstrated your willingness to pursue this, er, thing."

Sheppard stared at him, wide-eyed. "Thing," he repeated. 

"A you-me-thing," Rodney explained. "And I'm one hundred percent behind it."

"Good to know," Sheppard said slowly, his eyes crinkling.

"However," Rodney said firmly, resisting this obvious lure, "you're still bleeding, and though the jumper is cloaked, these people aren't complete idiots and might catch on to the flattened field of grass in the middle of the glade."

"Good point." Sheppard nodded. "We'll pick this up back in Atlantis."

"In my quarters? After our chess game?"

"Sounds perfect." Sheppard rose and shook his right leg, giving Rodney a dirty grin before sauntering up to the pilot's seat. 

Rodney rolled his eyes and bent over to pack up the first aid supplies then joined him up front.

"See?" Sheppard said as he lifted off and started them toward the gate. "I knew I was right. When I said last night. That you know."

Rodney blew out an exasperated breath. "And what, exactly, was it I was supposed to know?" He still hadn't figured it out.

Sheppard cast him a look beneath his brows. "Me."

"Well, of course I do," Rodney said immediately to hide the flush heating his face, the warmth in his chest. 

Quite obviously, he did.

 

...............................  
November 2, 2014  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
